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8
“You know, getting better would be easier if you would just stop sneezing.” Cullen only glares at Dorian for a second before sneezing again.
“Argh!” he groans, burying his face into a throw pillow.
Dorian lifts his head gently. “Don’t, you’ll get your snot all over it. What will Josephine think when she finds out that you’ve been slobbering all over her favorite ones?”
“I’m sure I’ll think of a proper apology when I don’t feel like I stuck my head in a vat of feathers.” Cullen sniffs; it sounds pitiful even to his own ears. “Can you get me some water?”
Cullen waits for the customary mild gibe (“But I might poison your water, and then where will we be?”) but none come. Dorian only looks at him with soft eyes, usual sharpness gone. He smooths Cullen’s hair back, combing through tangled curls. He imagines it looks a mess, but Dorian doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ll be right back,” he says, all gentleness, and for a moment, Cullen is grateful.
That is, until he steals Cullen’s blanket and walks out of the apartment. “This isn’t helping, Dorian!”
Dorian’s voice is faint as he calls back. “Don’t freeze to death!” Footsteps down the stairs, then nothing.
Cullen waits for ten suspenseful minutes; he wonders if death is possible through too much sneezing. It isn’t a fate he looks forward to.
The door opens with Dorian-esque flourish as said man steps through. “I’ve come back from war, did you miss me?”
Cullen’s voice is muffled as he presses his face to the couch cushion. “Every minute you were gone.” There is something thrown over him, something so deliciously warm he almost cries. “Oh fuck,” he groans, snuggling deeper into it.
His blanket, fresh from the dryer in the apartment’s basement; he doesn’t cry, but it’s a very close call. “Do you know I love you? Because I do--” he sneezes. “So much.”
Dorian’s answering laugh is soft; a hand uncovers his head. Dorian sits on the floor, head resting on his arms on the couch cushion. “Me? I’m honored.”
“Thank you, Dorian.”
A cool hand rests on his cheek. “Get some rest,” Dorian murmurs. Cullen doesn’t think he’s ever followed an order so quickly.
7
“Oh, come on, Rutherford! You said you were paying tonight, and I’m holding you to it.”
Cullen throws up his hands in exasperation. “That only applies to dinner.”
Dorian shushes him, pushes his nose against the glass of the claw machine. He jabs his finger in the general direction of the Dora the Explorer plushie. “I need it.”
“Dorian, no.”
“Dorian, yes.” Dorian turns, clasps his hands together. “Please?”
Cullen sighs and hands over a five dollar bill. “This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.”
Dorian’s smile is amused, greatly so. “So what does that make you for giving me the money?”
Cullen snorts. “Either triply ridiculous, or ridiculously tired of your constant whining.”
“Oh? Would you mind my whining in other circumstances?”
He groans into his hands. Somehow, even after close to four years of living together, and six years of knowing Dorian, the man still manages to make him blush to the tips of his ears.
As per usual, Dorian is delighted, laugh loud enough to draw attention from other diners. Cullen thinks it probably looks a little strange, two grown men crowding around a claw machine. But he can’t find it in himself to care when Dorian finally succeeds, crowing in victory, holding it up for all to see.
It’s only when they are in the car Cullen realizes why Dorian’s requests were so adamant. When they come to a stoplight, he gently presses his forehead to the steering wheel. “Dorian the Explorian.”
Dorian laughs until he’s breathless, and Cullen can’t help but grin.
6
Dorian cannot say that he is paying attention to everything all the time. He thinks constantly, contrary to popular belief, about everything and nothing, rambling in and outside of his head.
It’s no surprise he almost walks into oncoming traffic.
“Would you be careful, Dorian,” Cullen chides as he pulls him back into the sidewalk, hand gripping his “Watch where you’re walking!”
“That’s why I have you. Though walking into traffic is new.” Dorian swings their hands back and forth. It’s not the first time they've held hands, and if he keeps walking into things carelessly, it won’t be the last. Cullen’s hand in his is a constant, an almost unconscious move, a reassurance that he was there. He imagines that Cullen thinks the same.
“Distracted?” Cullen’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and he scrambles to regain them.
“With your handsome face? Always.”
He doesn’t need to look to know that Cullen’s neck is pink. “Not what I meant.”
“I’m just thinking. I’ve been known to do that sometimes, you know.”
Cullen snorts as they come to a pedestrian crossing. Dorian raises an eyebrow, waits for an explanation and gets none. He elbows Cullen gently in the ribs. “It’s a little obvious, Dorian.”
“Have you been observing me?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” is Cullen’s response.
Yes, Dorian thinks. He swallows the word and jokes it away. “I’m honored! The great Cullen Stanton Rutherford, deeming me worthy of his time?”
Cullen looks at him thoughtfully, smile playing on scarred lips. “You’re worth all my time.”
Dorian can’t find anything to say to that.
5
Dorian stares at the two tiered cake, tilting his head this way and that as if the right angle could make it disappear. It’s pink, bright and bubblegum, with neon blue and yellow icing decorating it with swirls and flowers. On the top, it reads It’s A Girl!
“I could try to say something witty right now, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t come out right.”
“They ran out,” Cullen says defensively. “It was either this one or Congratulations on Your Colonoscopy. I chose the lesser evil.” He crosses his arms over his chest and bites his lip. Dorian frowns; he recognizes the action as one of nervousness. He reaches out to smooth the dip between Cullen’s brows, thumb brushing lightly over skin. Cullen leans into it, and Dorian’s fingers catch in his hair.
“Let’s eat the monstrosity then,” Cullen says after a moment, leaning away.
It is an entirely messy affair, mainly because Dorian decides to smear icing on Cullen’s face. “It seems you’ve got something there,” he comments casually. Bright blue stretches from one ear, across Cullen’s nose and stopping at the corner of his mouth.
Cullen blinks in surprise before taking a glob of cake and plopping it on top of Dorian’s hair. He feels icing drip onto his neck in dollops. “I don’t think I’m the only one. You may need to wash that out.”
“You dare attack me?”
“Stay your hand, and the day may be peaceful yet.”
Dorian smirks. “Retreat? Me? Prepare yourself for the ass-handing you will tell your grandchildren about.”
Cullen laughs. “The battle is won before it has begun, Pavus."
When Josephine and Leliana find them covered head to toe in icing, they only look at each other as if sharing a secret. Dorian cocks his head to the side, eyes imploring.
Josephine gives him a small, quiet smile, and he wonders if there's a meaning behind it.
4
“This is, by far, the most ludicrous thing you’ve dragged me into,” Cullen says as he peers down the hill. Around them, the wind blows with a vengeance. The city in the distance glints, a beacon in the night. Dorian huffs a breath, watches it form in front of him and dissipate.
“I’m not losing fifty dollars to Sera just because you decided not to cardboard sled with me.”
“Why am I part of this bet?”
“Because it wouldn’t be fun if you weren’t.” Dorian flattens the box and positions himself right at the curve of the hill. “And also, you won’t be twenty-five ever again. Someday, you’ll regret not doing this, and your cries will fall upon deaf ears.”
“I’m regretting this now,” Cullen complains as he gently lowers himself behind Dorian, careful not to push them down prematurely. The cardboard sheet inches forward, and Cullen scrabbles at the grass on top of the hill.
“Come on, Rutherford, show me what you’re made of!”
“Was that-- was that an innuendo?”
“It could be,” Dorian winks. “But I’d rather do that on a bed, and not the grass.” And with that, he leans forward. Cullen does not have enough time to say “wait, wait!” His voice is stolen from his throat as they speed towards the bottom. Dorian shouts, an overjoyed whoop as they pick up speed. Grass blurs by at an incredible speed, and Cullen finds himself laughing, holding on to Dorian for dear life.
The landing is rough; an unexpected rise sends them flying, and they tumble over dirt, dust, and dead grass. Dorian lands on top of Cullen; he can feel his pulse, galloping as if to win a race. His own breathing is ragged.
Dorian lifts his head and just for a second, he is almost ethereal. His eyes are alive, like clouds before a storm, hiding away lightning and thunder. There is a wild grin on his face, stretching ear to ear. His hair is mussed, as messy as Dorian ever allows it, and god, he’s never been more beautiful.
Time begins once more when Cullen realizes he wants to keep Dorian like that-- happy and buoyant, all threats of pain on his face erased.
Dorian suddenly giggles -giggles- lowering his head to Cullen’s chest. “What’s wrong?” he rasps.
“I forgot--” he gasps, “I forgot to run the video camera.”
Cullen’s loud “Shit!” only makes Dorian laugh harder.
3
Dorian wakes up content, and he marvels in the feeling. It’s not that he’s never woken up content, but the spaces in between make it a near novel feeling.
A nose presses against his neck, and wild curls tickle his cheek. He can feel Cullen’s chest rumble with each soft snore, and Dorian absentmindedly rubs his back.
Something has changed in them, he knows it. Cullen is hesitant in his touches now; where there was ease before, there is only unsurety. It’s a wonder they fell asleep like this, like they used to.
He’s-- he’s missed something important, he knows it. He values himself moderately perceptive, but what good are his skills if he couldn’t figure out the person he knew best?
Dorian sighs irritatedly, and the sound is enough to wake Cullen. “Mmm, how long was I out?” he mumbles against Dorian’s shoulder.
“As long as I was out, and I’ve no idea how long that was.”
Cullen “hmm”s, before getting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His shirt rides up, pale skin golden as the setting sun’s rays hit his back. He looks back at Dorian, eyes still half-closed but somehow still brilliant. “Are you coming?”
“Am I?” He waggles his eyebrows. Cullen doesn’t blush, only smiles languidly.
“I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“You did, I’m surprised. You’re slacking.”
Dorian could have never expected what happened next-- not in a hundred years, a thousand, a million, eons upon eons.
Cullen leans down and kisses him softly on the cheek, chaste and innocent, but it stuns Dorian.
“It seems I am,” Cullen says not a second after, already out the door, leaving Dorian gaping.
He leaves, and Dorian finds himself wanting.
2
“Why are they marathoning these now?” Dorian asks as he settles next to Cullen. “It’s Valentine’s Day, not Lock Your Doors and Hope Jason Voorhees Doesn’t Break Them Down Day.”
Cullen gives him a one-shoulder shrug, careful not to jostle Dorian. “I’d rather this than one of those movies Cassandra adores so much.”
“What, you don’t like The Notebook?”
“If I recall correctly, it was you who walked out of the theater during the middle, not me.”
Dorian scoffs as an alien bursts on screen, and a spatter of goop rains down. “Well, pardon me if Nicholas Sparks’ writing is not to my taste.”
He leans heavily against Cullen’s side, and it’s feels proper; he thinks it odd to have anyone else there. It sounds cheesy even thinking it, but Dorian is the epitome of everything good in his life. They have their faults, but they find a balance with each other. He wishes he had the words to say what he felt, to confess to Dorian exactly how he feels, but the thought frightens him.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Dorian says after a while, turning his head to rest his chin on Cullen’s shoulder. Cullen bites his cheek and stares ahead. On the screen, there is a small explosion.
“It’s-- it’s nothing.”
“It’s obviously something, and I’d rather you told me.” Dorian takes his hand, and he desperately hopes he doesn’t feel the sudden jump in his pulse. He squeezes Cullen’s hand. “You can tell me, no judging involved.” Dorian’s frown is apparent. “You know this.”
“Dorian--” Cullen exhales sharply before breathing in shakily. “Dorian.”
“Hm?”
“I love you.” It doesn't encompass everything, not the six years they've known, not all the times that they just fit together, but he doesn't know what else to say. He worries that Dorian will snicker, take his words as a joke as he had multiple times before. The grip on his hand disappears as Dorian brings his hand to Cullen’s face. His touch is tender, intimate as he turns Cullen’s head. His eyes are soft, affection plain. Cullen swallows.
“Oh thank goodness, I thought I was the only one.” Dorian rests their foreheads together, as they’d done hundreds of times before.
1
Their first kisses are chaste, feather-light. Dorian presses his lips to Cullen's, once, twice, three times, never getting far before Cullen chases after him.
Cullen's hands are restless, never in one place for too long. They flutter from his hair to his neck, dancing to his back, roaming hesitantly. His fingers curl against Cullen's chest, moving to his shoulders when their kisses turn firm and insistent.
It's natural, almost like every other touch they've ever shared yet unlike anything Dorian's ever felt, and it makes his stomach flip.
They part after a while, the TV sound low as white noise in their ears. Cullen is flushed, eyes bright.
Like this, Dorian thinks. A lifetime like this would be enough.
"Are you— are you alright?" Cullen bites his lip, and Dorian resists kissing him again.
"No," Dorian says jokingly, "how dare you kiss me senseless! It's uncouth! It's only fair that I get to do the same."
Cullen's laugh is low and rough. "I give you permission. But—" Dorian kisses him briefly, smirking as Cullen makes a small sound of protest when he draws away. "Does this mean," now his voice is breathless, and Dorian preens, "does this mean we're— are we dating?"
"Do you want to?" They are on the brink of something, and Dorian hopes.
"Yes, yes, yes." Cullen rests his forehead against Dorian's. "Dorian Pavus, be my boyfriend?"
0
"Be with you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford? Yes."